


Sun, Sea, Sangria

by Daegaer



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Genre: Aliens, Drinking, Gen, Holidays, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 11:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17021490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: Ford wins a holiday.





	Sun, Sea, Sangria

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenlily/gifts).



> Thank you to my beta-reader!

"Arthur," Ford said, with the innocent expression that Arthur associated with the start of some of the more surreal experiences of his recent life, "Would you consider yourself to be a young human being?"

"I'm not exactly decrepit, thank you very much," Arthur said.

Ford looked at him intently over the rim of his glass. "You do breathe a bit heavily when going uphill. And upstairs. And when moving generally. Would you say you've passed your physical peak?" 

Arthur shoved the pack of cheesy Wotsits away decisively. Maybe he _should_ eat a few more salads, he thought, or play a few games of squash before heading for the pub. Mind you, it was a bit rich for Ford bloody Prefect to cast aspersions on a fellow's waistline when _he'd_ never been observed moving swiftly in the direction of anything other than free drink. He narrowed his eyes at the sight of Ford's expectant face, like the cheeky bugger actually wanted an answer.

"Can I just clarify whether you're calling me fat or old, so that I know what sort of offence I'm taking?" 

Ford blinked slowly, looking a little surprised. Arthur briefly wondered why Ford blinked so infrequently that he'd even notice it when it happened, then forgot about it again.

"I'm just trying to work out how old you are. I'm rubbish with humans' – er, people's ages."

"Well, if we really were in uni together we're about the same age," Arthur said. "Not that I can remember you from back then at all."

"I was very reserved in university," Ford said with great insincerity. "I got tongue-tied every time I tried to speak to creatures outside my semi kin-groupings." He gave Arthur a blinding and somewhat disturbing smile. "You know how shy and retiring I can still be, Arthur." 

"Yes, quite," Arthur shuddered. He retreated to the bar to get more beer in an attempt to drown the memories.

"So you're somewhere between the ages of eighteen to thirty?" Ford said when he returned, pints in hand.

"What? Er, yes. Nearer thirty these days," Arthur said. 

"Still in the allowable age range, excellent," Ford said, grabbing the beer from him. "This will be fun!"

"Oh no," Arthur said instinctively, closely followed by, "What will?"

"I won tickets for a holiday! For two! It's for a club. But you have to be between eighteen to thirty; don't worry, no one will believe I'm almost two hundred, you never have and you see me all the time."

Arthur stared at him. Ford didn't _seem_ to be joking. It was always hard to tell with Ford, given that he was usually so pleased with everything and eager to tell the world that he found perfectly normal things like Scotch eggs and aftershave exotic or quaint or exactly the sort of thing that travel editors would love.

"You won tickets for a Club 18-30 holiday. And you want me to go. With you."

"Yes! It's all-inclusive, except for the drink, but we'll find a way round that easily!"

"Ford," Arthur said, "those are the sort of holidays that really quite _young_ people go on. Closer to the _eighteen_ end of things. To drink a lot of alcohol and have lots of sex with strangers away from their home-town's tut-tutting disapproval."

"Arthur," Ford said patiently. "That would be my point. Why do you think I bothered entering the raffle in the first place, let alone telekinesing my ticket up to the top?"

"Oh, telekinesis," Arthur scoffed. "Well, that explains it. That would be one of the psychic skills you learnt from the space monks, then?"

"You remembered!"

"Well, you'd better have learnt some sort of telepathic control as well, because there's no other way you're getting me to go on that sort of holiday."

* * *

This part of Greece was really rather nice, Arthur thought. Full of delightful scenery, beautiful weather, fascinating history – and marauding gangs of young drunken idiots with whom he was unfortunately associated.

"Come on, Art, pool party in five!" Colin, one of the reps, yelled behind him.

"I might give it a miss," Arthur said. He had already successfully missed a French-kissing marathon, a contest to guess the weight of young ladies breasts by feel and a friendly match to see how many Slippery Nipples it was possible to drink before the name of the drink stopped being stupid. He rather felt that Ford was obscurely disappointed in him. "Might just sit down with a book for a while."

"Ok!" Colin said cheerfully. "Suit yourself, granddad," he muttered, heading back to the sounds of splashing and high-pitched joyous shrieking.

Arthur had a pleasant time reading his thriller and drinking a cold lager, after which he had a little nap and found himself being shaken awake by a dripping wet and oddly foam-covered Ford.

"The shade's moved," Ford said, indicating the sun-umbrella's shadow. "You'll get sun-stroke. Why didn't you join in the pool party?"

"It wasn't really my thing," Arthur said, brushing away some of the fallen foam. "It's just embarrassing to be hanging round with people so much younger, don't you think? It makes one look desperate."

Ford looked at him oddly, then began to laugh. 

"Oh, Arthur," he said, cheerfully. "I _do_ like you. If I ever go on a proper trip again I'm taking you along."

"What, on the hippie trail to Kathmandu?" Arthur said drily.

"Sure. As a warm-up. Now, put down the book and come and do something undignified. By the way, the hotel has been overbooked; Colin says that anyone who volunteers to sleep on the roof gets a free bar for the rest of the trip."

"Tell me you didn't –" 

Ford grinned. "Free drink, Arthur. I _told_ you. Now come on, there are plenty of young ladies dying to meet a mysterious older man. And afterwards I'll introduce them to you."

"How can I resist?" Arthur said sarcastically.

"Precisely," Ford said, hauling him up. "And put on sun cream, your nose is going red."

"Huh," Arthur said. "You've only worn swimming trunks since we arrived, how come you aren't as burnt as everyone else?"

"My species doesn't burn in the light of your feeble sun?" Ford suggested.

"Your red-haired, glow-in-the-dark pale species. Are you wearing factor 500 or something?"

"I've just always kept up with my travel shots," Ford grinned. "It's a layer of UV-protective bacteria under the skin."

"I should loan you my thriller when I've finished - you read far too much science fiction," Arthur said as Ford led him off to an evening of debauchery.

"I like to think of it as wildly inaccurate historical comedy," Ford said. "Now, no more literary criticism, we have free drink to catch up on!"

Arthur was never really sure what happened on the rest of the trip, but he certainly didn't get to finish his book.


End file.
